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Chloe shot to her feet. Her glass of champagne teetered then fell, spilling its contents over the table. While her bodyguards quickly scrambled to clean up the mess, she moved out of the way, taking a hold of Jordan’s muscular arm in the process. “What’s wrong with me? I thought we were making a connection, but now you are leaving.”
And you don’t sound the least bit desperate, do you, Chloe?
He glanced at her hand, then lifting his head, fixed her with his emerald eyes. “Is that what you want, Chloe? I’m happy to go and find some food, but I’m not looking to be anything else for you tonight. You are gorgeous, and wow … it’s just that I don’t do casual these days.” The wordsI’m not a fuckboy fan were heavily implied.“You seem a really nice girl, but …”
Chloe the global pop star disappeared in an instant. In her place stood Chloe the girl from Nebraska who couldn’t handle any form of rejection. And especially not from a man who appeared as genuine as Jordan. Her hand tightened on his arm.
She couldn’t fault his manners. Someone had raised him right. Jordan was clearly doing his best to give Chloe all due respect and not cause offence.
They’d met mere minutes ago, yet the thought of him simply wishing her well and saying good night had Chloe stumbling to the edge of panic. None of it made sense.I’ve just met this guy.She barely knew him beyond his first name. But the combination of fatigue and deep-seated fear of abandonment was all too powerful.
She released her hold, then proceeded to gently pat his upper arm. “The offer for food is real. I’m sorry if I came across as, sexually aggressive. I guess I’m just conditioned to how things work in my world. Subtle isn’t much of a thing.”
Jordan nodded. “I can see how that would be, especially in your line of work. Where you just ask for something and it happens. I know what it means to have a life of privilege, but unlike you, there is no magic in me. I’m just a guy from the East Coast. What you see is what you get.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been around a regular person. The Hollywood set considered themselves to be gods. If you weren’t rich and famous, you were a mere mortal. And mortals were only put on this earth to serve the gods.
Chloe leaned in closer to Jordan, so he could hear her lowered voice over the rapid-fire beat of the music. “I would really like to go and find somewhere to eat with you, Jordan. But we’ll need to slip away from my assistants. If they know I’m leaving with you, they will want to tag along.”
He placed a hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Trust me, when it comes to the ancient art of making a sly exit, I am a grand master. Though your body guards might have something to say about it being just the two of us. And so they should, since you don’t really know me.”
Even if she and Jordan had known one another, Chloe wouldn’t risk leaving the club alone with him. Not tonight. Her concert might be over, but plenty of her fans would still be out and about in the city. The chances of them getting caught up in a selfie-hungry mob were too great.
“Let me have a quick word with Martin and come up with a plan.” Her head of security could be trusted to run interference with her people if needed, delay them while he helped Chloe and Jordan make their escape.
Chloe’s body thrummed with sexual need. For a man’s touch. It was a shame that Jordan wasn’t looking for a casual hook up. The ache between her legs spoke of an unsated hunger.
Just remember he is only agreeing to food. You need to keep a lid on your lust.
Jordan was right in stating his position. Tonight was simply a chance meeting of strangers, an opportunity for them to go and share a meal. She might be a world renowned superstar with money and fame, but even Chloe understood the word ‘no’.
CHAPTERTHREE
Sharing small talk over plates of tapas and salad with a musical megastar hadn’t been in Jordan’s plans for the evening. And yet here he was. He and Chloe were tucked away in a far corner of Matanga, a restaurant, a few minutes’ walk from the nightclub.
Martin, her senior bodyguard had taken up a position at a table close to theirs which made it virtually impossible for anyone other than the waitstaff to approach them. Jordan could well understand the need to protect Chloe.
He’d been counting on the fact that this was Berlin where people tended to value their privacy, and in doing so, had assumed the other diners wouldn’t disturb her. But not long after they’d arrived, Jordan had come to see the folly of his ways. The restaurant was a favorite haunt of the city’s tourists.
Idiot. You could have picked a dozen other places, but you had to come here.
Worried, Jordan had spoken to Martin, who’d reassured him that at the first sign of trouble, he was to get the hell out of the way while Chloe was quickly hustled out the back of the café and into a waiting car. Jordan was in no doubt that if push came to shove, he was on his own.
Chloe sat toying idly with her salad. The tomatoes, avocado, and green leaves were pretty, but he could almost hear them pleading to be dressed in the homemade vinaigrette which she’d asked to be held back.
“This tortilla is really good, would you like to try a bite?” he offered, pushing the plate toward her. Chloe briefly licked her lips, then shook her head. He pushed the plate a little closer. It was like trying to tempt a wild bird. She shook her head a second time. There was a real battle going on here. Temptation vs. resolve.
Hang on. You don’t like it when people do that to you. When they shove a beer under your nose. Don’t be that guy.
She had respected his stated boundaries earlier, he should give her the same courtesy. Jordan pulled the plate back. As he did, Chloe let out a sigh of relief. She’d obviously wanted to taste the egg and potato omelet but wouldn’t allow herself. Wouldn’t permit it. His brows furrowed as Chloe dragged the salad bowl closer and she stabbed her fork into a leaf.
Jordan’s phone pinged. He glanced at it. The nightclub privacy sticker was still stuck over the camera. It had occurred to him that if the clubs in NYC had been doing that during his wild hellcat days, it would have saved him a gut load of pain, not to mention lawyers, and bail money.
Grainy pictures of Jordan invariousstages of undress withvariousyoung women invariousnightclubs still lurked in therecesses of the internet. House of Royal money, vast that it was, could only buy so much anonymity.
He peeled the sticker off and turned the phone over. The screen shone with an angry message.
The skanky folks who’ve stolen our booth r royally pissed at you. Did u really kidnap a pop star?!!
